Pretty
by yeyavailability
Summary: Bakura just wants to be a good role model for his little brother, but Ryou just can't seem to take things the right way. Warnings inside.
1. red beautiful

Was itching to write down two humiliation scenes. Reluctantly I had to develop some sort of plot, therefore writing this first chapter crap…I really had no idea how to link it together at first, but miraculously I actually stayed up all night with bunnies attacking me. This actually follows a plot that I'm actually happy about.

**Story warnings: Incest, NCS, Death, violence, humiliation. **And if Ryou-seme counts as a warning, there you go.

**Chapter warnings: Pseudo-gory.** Not very descriptive.

* * *

Ryou could hear the faint ticks of the clock.

_BakuChan has such nice hands—_

"Ryou," his brother said, disappointment evident. "Pay attention." He moved the pieces accordingly, death-pale fingers shifting almost seductively across the checker board; a beautiful, macabre black against white. Ryou followed his movements, watching, shaking—

—_but I just __can't__, I—_

Bakura leaned back, frowning slightly. "Put your hands on the board! Ryou, if you're not even trying there's no way I can teach you…"

—_I can't I can't I __**can't—**_

Ryou slowly, hesitantly, pulled his hands out of his pocket. His fingers nicked at the edge of the blade—_ I __**can't**__—_ and he drew in a breath loudly, making a show of looking hurt. Bakura was at his side in an instant, and Ryou wondered if perhaps he would still be able to catch him when he escaped—

"Ryou?" Bakura's face was twisted in something akin to worry, the sharp slant of his eyes creasing in awkward lines. Ryou frowned, wanting to smooth back his hair and show him what he's doing to his pretty skin, but at the same time Bakura's lips were so close to his hand— "Ryou!"

Ryou started, jumping slightly. The knife in his pocket hit the push velvet surface of the chair, not making a sound.

"Sorry," he said, blushing cutely as he tilted his head; at Bakura's angle, he was sure to see it. His brother sighed, but didn't look up— he backed off instead, and Ryou felt a pang of dissatisfaction when Bakura's kneeling form stood from his feet.

_Stupid chair, _Ryou thought. Bakura was walking out of the room.

Ryou looked up at his brother's retreating form. "Are you getting me a bandage?"

Bakura paused in midstride. Ryou thought he looked as if he were posing; his hands moved from his side to the back pocket of his jeans, close to his hips, his arm bending at a curve in a casual manner. Ryou kept his hands carefully on his lap. _His arm is still healing, I can't— _

"Sorry," Bakura started. Ryou looked up sharply. "We don't have any left…would you do for some tape for now? I'll go out and get some bandages…"

_Tape?_ Ryou's brows furrowed, if just slightly. They'd used it as replacement bandages in elementary school. The strip had stuck to his wound unpleasantly— the cotton placed under it was spread about the wrong spaces.

"It won't hurt, I promise," Bakura added, already slipping past the doorway.

Ryou kept his voice light. "Can't you at least treat my wound first?"

Bakura turned, if just for a second. In the next moment his voice was fading down the hallway. "It's just a small cut, Ryou," he assured, "we can't really treat it in any way. Just wash it up. I'll get you some tape…" Ryou could hear him stepping down the stairway.

He sat still. _Can't can't can't._ He breathed slowly, taking deep, long breaths, making sure he was relatively calm before heading into the washroom. He looked into the mirror, seeing the frown twisted upon his face.

_Smile, _he told himself. His lips twitched upwards— then, naturally. _Can't do that to him._ He made sure it stayed that way.

He dried his hands on a fluffy white towel, feeling the texture thoroughly. He smiled. It wouldn't bruise…

His eyes snapped to the door. _What was I __**thinking?!**_ He thought frantically, _Oh, I __**can't**__— but he has such nice hands—_

When Bakura wrapped the tape around his finger, it was with care. Ryou sighed inwardly, enjoying the touch. _Soft…_

By the time Bakura was out the door again, Ryou was already asleep.

-

Two days later, Ryou raised a hand to his face and found clean, unblemished fingers. _Perfect…_

Bakura's voice was faint through the door, lovely in its tremor. "R-Ryou…"

Ryou twisted the knob. On one of Bakura's hands were three large cuts, bleeding across horror-red skin. _No, not skin.._. Ryou smiled at the sight, almost in gratitude. "BakuChan," he breathed.

Bakura's voice was lovely, lovely. "W-why…?"

Ryou stepped over his older brother's shaking body, admiring the way his lips were parted in such a pretty manner that his voice was so deserving of. "Don't worry, BakuChan," he smiled, "it's not that big of a wound; just a little skin." He continued down the hallway, heading downstairs. "Just wash it for now. I'll get you some tape…"

-

Ryou jolted. He fell off the chair— a chair?— at a tap. His eyes snapped open, and he looked around frantically—

"Ryou?"

Ryou whirled around, coming face to face with his brother. "B-Bakura," he gasped, shaking slightly.

Bakura stared at him for a few long moments. "I brought the bandages," he said.

Ryou froze. "I— I didn't—" He looked down at his hands, then back up at Bakura, expression twisted into shock. "I haven't—"

Bakura sighed, kneeling down once again. He took Ryou's hand— _it's still here,_ Ryou realized— and gently peeled off the tape. "Bad dream?" he asked, reaching into a bag to take out bandages. Ryou's gaze followed his hand— dead-pale and perfect. _Skin skin skin_, Ryou thought, relieved. _I knew I couldn't have done it_.

When Bakura left the room, Ryou took the blade out of his pocket, walking shakily over to one end of the room. _I couldn't,_ he told himself, _I couldn't— no, skin doesn't mend that way—_

The blade tittered at the edge of the window sill, glittering temptingly in the sun. _I have to get rid of it,_ Ryou thought. _Please, let the wind—_ as if answering his wish, a sudden breeze blew across the streets. For one last time, the blade tilted, then disappeared off the edge with a halo of white. Ryou stood for a moment, letting it sink in— then he ran out the door and dropped to his knees in the garden soil, right below the window of his room. He raked through the mud with his hands frantically, searching.

-

That night, Ryou dreamed of the blade— he held it confidently at his own throat, a bloody mess of _something_ in his hands. Bakura lay face up before him, head rolled awkwardly to the side. It didn't look right somehow; sort of broken— _ah, my fault,_ Ryou realized. He'd cut a bit too deep.

-

Ryou shot up. Instantly, he brought his hands to his throat, feeling smooth, unscarred skin. He let his breath calm before falling back onto the bed, if just to make sure this was real.

Suddenly, his fingers brushed past small dent in his throat. He froze.

_I didn't—_

Jumping from his bed, he ran into the bathroom, looking frantically into the mirror. _I can't see it,_ he panted, _I can't, but it's—_ then he saw it. A small nick, only a bit tainted red and not even bleeding. Ryou's breath hitched, and he craned his neck more to the side. _This was how…BakuChan…_

He shook his head. Bakura wasn't dead, he would never kill him— _cut out his voice box_— he breathed in slowly, then exhaled. With a bit of effort, he stood, taking one last looking into the mirror before heading back. The dent looked more like a brand— tiny, miniscule words pressed into the skin of his neck. He'd seen that pattern before; when he lay down again, he flinched, sitting up to inspect the cold metal lodged inside his pillow case. _It's just the zipper,_ he assured himself.

There were no more dreams this time. Ryou woke up otherwise perfectly fine, padding into Bakura's room. His brother was asleep, breathing ragged, panting silently with that _voice_ and—

–_head rolled awkwardly to the side— didn't look right somehow— sort of broken— the blade, he wouldn't—_

Ryou fled.

-

Bakura's eyes were pink, rimmed with red. Under the light, Ryou could see the blood pulsing inside his wrists; dark red in sickly blue and green against his hair, a pale blond-white. _Alive, alive,_ Ryou thought, relieved.

"Ryou?"

Ryou's heart thumped almost painfully against his chest. Bakura was staring at him, not-silky hair matted to the side in sleep. It brushed against his throat, a faint mess of colours where the near-translucent skin of his neck met his jaw— bright bright hues of delicate, flowing red.

_Alive, _Ryou told himself, gulping. _I want him alive._

-

This time, it was neither just his hand nor his throat. It was the whole of his skin, the delicate areas where Ryou could see the pulsing blood. Bakura was beautiful; everything was white, red, amazing. Ryou lacked the precision in the fault; his eyes were a dark shade of muddy brown, his skin only sickly, but not even enough.

"BakuChan," he'd breathed, out loud, but his brother could not scold him.

In this dream, he'd skinned his brother alive.

He was about to do the same to himself.

-

Ryou woke up.

_Alive,_ he reminded himself, but this time he wasn't so sure.

* * *

Uhm. Yeah. Probably a bit boring here, but I promise it'll get better. Hopefully I'm not just typing a bunch of shit, but I don't make big promises like this so I guarantee I'll try, at least.

Click that button, yes.


	2. love lie

This chapter shall be confusing, on purposely. You'll get it...at the end of the story. At least, you'll get why it had to be so confusing.

Chapter warnings: Confusedness of both readers and characters leading to more confusion, and a wet, nekked Bakura. Kind of.

* * *

Ryou snapped awake, heart pounding in his chest. There was sweat down his face, and his shirt stuck unpleasantly to his skin. Breathing hard, he rolled off the bed slowly and trudged to the washroom.

Splashing cold water onto his face, he vaguely remembered having woken up already. _I should take something to stop these dreams…_ He grabbed the towel from the sidebar and wiped at the droplets blankly. There was something wrong.

Things seemed to go slowly that day; he sat through breakfast alone, feeling just slightly off somewhat, and he couldn't even remember washing the dishes when he realized the plates were sparkling clean. There was an odd, almost sickly feeling at the base of his stomach—_probably cooked something bad,_ Ryou thought to himself—and when he stopped at Bakura's door he could not even remember what he had eaten. Without knocking, he opened the door and went in.

Bakura was still asleep on the bed, head lulled to the side as he breathed. In between exhales, there was a pause, then a tremor—_cut a bit too deep, he shouldn't be breathing—_Ryou stepped cautiously closer.

"Mmn," Bakura mumbled at the weight of Ryou's hands sinking into the mattress. Slowly, Ryou put his other hand on the same spot, and pushing down, he jumped. Bakura's eyes snapped open, and for a moment his vision was white from the sun. He growled, turning to face his little brother who couldn't stop giggling. "That was new," he said, voice raspy from disuse. Ryou gave him a grin but underneath his head was swimming.

He didn't know what he had done that for.

"Wake up," he chirped. _I'm lonely and there's something missing and I'm scared—_"I prepared your bath."

Bakura blinked, then rolled to his side and slowly sat up, trying to blink the sleepiness away. Ryou watched from beside him.

When Bakura stepped into the bathroom, he saw nothing but white tiles and a frosty mirror. He turned to Ryou for an explanation.

_Didn't I…?_ Ryou blinked, then gave a sheepish smile. "Sorry. Must've been hallucinating or something—must have been the exams." He gave Bakura a casual shrug, but inside his mind was racing. _Did I even…?_

"It's winter break," Bakura said flatly. "We haven't had school for at least a week from December." Shaking his head, he walked forward anyways, twisting about the taps. "You should—work on your humour—not funny, Ryou."

Bakura seemed to be having trouble with the taps. There was no sound of running water, and no matter how much Bakura twisted them they couldn't seem to turn.

"Bakura?" Ryou stepped slightly closer. "What's wrong?"

"You didn't do it?" his brother shot back, sounding wary. "Better not be the cold…not going to spend the rest of the year and half of the next without a convenient shower…" he grumbled, looking like he desperately wanted to kick the tub with his bare feet.

—_Bakuchan has such nice skin—_

"Can I try?" Ryou asked, a second too early. Bakura looked at him like he knew he couldn't do it, but stepped away and offered the job to Ryou anyways.

Ryou took a deep breath in preparation. _I want—_Ryou tugged at the taps, but they wouldn't budge—_you should, I'll make you—_he pulled at them harder—_you will look at me the way I look at you, you have to—_

There was a click then, and Ryou's palms were red when he let go. The tap was loose—incredibly so—just as Bakura was about to congratulate him for breaking the shower, a stream of water gushed out of the valve. It splashed loudly across the bottom, and Ryou jumped back—then, nothing. Ryou calmed his breathing, hands redder than ever when he released his grip from Bakura's shirt, and when it sank in his face matched the hue.

Ryou could barely stand. _Breathe, _he told himself, _breathe and maybe—probably—shit, I'm even stuttering inside my head—_"I—I'm sorry…"

Bakura stared for a moment, expression particularly blank. _Shit,_ Ryou thought, _he must be really mad…_ For the briefest moment, Ryou thought he could see Bakura's face crease in anger—but his brother merely sighed, leaning against then wall. "Guess we can't help it, then," he said, "I'm going to share your shower until we get this fixed, okay?"

Ryou's face was glowing red. "S-_share?_"

Bakura blinked at him. "Yes, share. I'm not going to steal it from you—it's in your room anyways—we'll just be alternating. I'm not going to hog it or anything, it's temporary."

Ryou looked down, feeling the rush of blood drain away slowly. "A-alternating," he repeated, _alternating alternating __**alternating**__—_"yes, okay. Yeah." _Damn._

Bakura stared a bit longer, then shook his head. "Maybe you should go out for a while. Is being copped up doing things to you head?"

Ryou blushed furiously and shoved him, and Bakura shoved him back. Exiting the bathroom, they laughed.

Something still wasn't right.

-

Ryou sat up groggily. There were bags under his eyes and his head swam with dizziness. Sighing, he fell back and snuggled into the pillows once again.

The was a shuffle then; small, barely audible, and for a moment Ryou was sure he was just hearing things—then, the door burst open. Coming through was Bakura, his hair matted limp around his head, strands sticking to his cheeks. He turned to Ryou in somewhat of an apology.

"Sorry," he started—"my shower is broken. I'm going to use yours, okay?"

"I know," Ryou mumbled sleepily, giving his brother a brief smile. A moment passed where Bakura stepped quickly into the bathroom, locking the door behind him with a click.

"You know?" his voice was muffled by the door. "What, did you do it or something?"

Ryou's eyes shot open.

"I-I already said—" he started, but the sound of water interrupted him, and he sat back bewilderedly. _I…didn't he, just yesterday…?_ Feeling a small thump of fright clenched around his chest, and immediately he got off the bed and ran down the stairway. Tripping into the living room, he searched for the calendar.

December seventh.

_Oh, god,_ Ryou thought. His eyes were wide with horror. He checked it over and over again, but his eyes only had so much things to read before he arrived back at the conclusion that it really was one week from December.

He ran all the way back upstairs, flung himself into his room and banged on the washroom door. "Bakura!" he screamed, "_Bakura!_"

A few seconds later, the sound of the shower stopped. There were a few shuffles, and two footsteps before the open opened slightly. "What," his brother snapped irritably, dripping wet.

Ryou took a step backwards, blushing. Suddenly, he couldn't remember the reason he was here in the first place. Something about the date, probably…

"I-um—" he gave a small squeak when Bakura rolled his eyes and opened the door a tiny bit wider. "I—oh, just, sorry," he flushed, "sorry for interrupting, I just—must be the exams." He grinned nervously, turning. "Um, bye now. Yeah."

Bakura's voice had a familiar flatness to it. "It's winter break," he said, "We haven't had school for at least a week from December." Shaking his head, he walked back, and Ryou watched as he twisted about the taps. "You should—work on your humour—ah, there." He walked back and closed the door. "Shoo."

Ryou stared for a moment, standing dumbfounded. _He—he doesn't know—_Groaning, he slid down to his knees, burying his face in his palms. _God, please let this be a dream…_

-

When Bakura walked down the stairway, he was fully dry and looked ten times healthier than before. He sat down on the chair opposite from Ryou's, staring as his brother looked up from a mouth full of cereal.

"Bakura?" Ryou asked, blinking.

"Let's go out," he said, "go find a mechanic or something." He gave a careless shrug, but his gaze was pointed. "Maybe a tutor for checkers."

_Ah,_ Ryou remembered, _that._ He held on to the thought—he wasn't very interested in learning, but it was the only thing that made sense today.

_Something was wrong..._

Ryou gave a start, gasping as he jumped from his chair. Bakura was up with him in an instant, running over to check for injuries. "Ryou?"

_Dream dream dream,_ Ryou reminded himself, looking at his fingers, which were red tipped over blue, and his palms, fully red.

"Shit," Bakura said faintly from beside him, "did you burn yourself or something?" Ryou tensed as his brother dotted over him, and vaguely he could hear his command to stay there. Ryou wasn't sure if he could move.

_I couldn't have,_ Ryou thought, somewhat panicked, _I couldn't have, I was eating ce—_

Looking down, there on the table, was an empty bowl—no traces of milk or crumbs. The pan sizzled by his ear, burning on the stove.

_Something is wrong…_

Ryou fainted.

* * *

Um, yeah, tbc.


End file.
